Perfectly Placed
by Phoebsfan
Summary: Perfectly placed are the holes. Sydney ponders the newest devlopments, or holes, in her web of lies called life. Character death.


Perfectly Placed

Disclaimer: No I do not own Alias or it's characters.  If I did...  Well... Will would not have found out.  Will would still be naive and Sydney would not have yet another reason to cry.  

Rating: PG-13

Archive: Sure why not.  I'm good with it.  Anybody who wants it.  Credit Dauphine... Anyone feel free.  And hey if you want to send me a link letting me know that's good too.  Just keep this all attached and we'll be good.

Summery: Perfectly placed are the holes.  Sydney struggles with the latest developments in her web of lies called life.  Character death.

AN: ok show of hands. Who thinks Will is dead?  Ok good so everyone agrees that THAT DID NOT JUST HAPPEN. Smiles.  Yup he's not dead.  Never.  He'll live forever.  But anyway…

Perfectly placed.

The hole in his chest.  It was quick, over almost before he hit the ground.   

One small hole in his heart.  A tear, one I created.  

Maybe I never pulled the trigger but I was holding the gun.

And with one perfectly timed, perfectly aimed, perfectly executed attack.

With one pull of the trigger.

It was all over.

Perfectly placed.

This void that Vaughn has created.  It was quick; hit me before I knew it.

One small hole in his heart.  A tear, one I must have somehow created.

Maybe I never pulled the trigger but I was holding the gun.

And with one perfectly timed, perfectly aimed, perfectly executed attack.

With one conversation.

We are not.

Perfectly placed.

Everything has been perfectly placed.

Emily is recovering.  

Someone is going to pull the trigger on her too.

Perfectly placed in order to maximize pain.

To shoot so many holes in my support system I won't be able to cling to anything when my web of lies is torn out from under me.

Death.  I am the bringer of it.

I'm the perfect assassin.  Unwitting, unwise, uninformed.  

Never pulling the trigger but always holding the gun.  It's more effective that way.

In the book that is my life there is a reoccurring theme.  One I'm not sure I can afford to ignore any longer.  One I'm sure others are starting to figure out as well.

I cannot love.  

A just God.  I questioned if there was such a thing.

I can't say one way or the other.  Part of me wants to believe that he'd never let these "perfectly placed" events happen.  But then I'm reminded of who I am.

I am an assassin.  I am a liar.  I am a thief.  I've sold my soul to a devil named Sloane.

I deserve what I get.

But Will didn't.

Will did not deserve to get mixed up in my perfectly placed moments.

Will did not deserve the perfectly placed Paris incident.  He did not deserve the perfectly placed bullet of truth he got that night.

He did not deserve the perfectly placed piece of metal in his chest either.

He won't deserve the perfectly placed headstone.  He won't deserve the perfectly placed resting spot.  Six feet under, facing the sunrise, rotting in a perfectly placed casket.

He won't deserve the perfectly placed flower arrangements. The perfectly picked songs.  The perfectly placed speeches.  The ones saying how it was unfortunate.  A drive by shooting.  He was so talented. He had such promise.  How will we ever get along without him?  

We'll hold his memory close to us and know that because of his existence we are better.

It's a selfish phrase.  One used to calm those grieving over a senseless death.  A not so perfectly placed incident.

The wrong place at the wrong time.

What they won't know is that I killed him.  What they won't know is that his death is no so imperfectly placed.

That his death is the perfectly placed bullet in my heart.  And that his killer knew that.

I can't afford another perfectly placed incident.

I can't afford this one.

I don't deserve pity.  I don't deserve comfort.  I don't deserve the faces of sympathy his mourners offer as they pass.  I deserve nothing more then to take his place.

I deserve the perfectly placed headstone.  Not Will.

My web is falling apart; my support system is cracking faster.  My lies are showing.

I know I should cover them up.  Clamp my mouth closed before I mess up again.

I told his aunt it wasn't a drive by.  She thinks I'm paranoid.  Well at first she thought I was grieving and then when I went on to explain he was murdered because of a story he was doing.  Because he knew too much.  Because he was too close to me.  That's when she began to think that I was paranoid.

I don't know what got into me.  Why I slipped like that.  I guess those perfectly placed moments are starting to ruin me.

When I got the call I fell to the floor in disbelief.  Sat there a good fifteen minutes before Francie came in.

I recovered quickly enough that she didn't see me sitting there in shock.  I hopped right to my feet and asked her how her day was.  

I should not have been able to do that.  But I did.  I managed happy and cheery for another thirty minutes before we got a call from the hospital saying that Danny... I mean Will, had been killed.

And then I was allowed to lose it.  But I couldn't.  

I could never in my right mind let myself forget that I killed him.

I'm standing at his grave long after the family leaves.  I guess I have some sick and twisted need to make myself suffer.  I need to stay here longer.  

Will deserves it.  He deserves so much that he'll never have because of me.

I should stay a little longer.  For Will.

I wish someone would have stayed with me though.  

I've read stories where the departed person's loved one has flung themselves into the grave with them.  

 I loved Will.  I guess I just want someone to keep me from doing the same, if I temporarily lose my mind.  It's not that I'd ever do something like that.  It's that I want someone here to keep me from doing that.  To drag me away.

To tell me it's not my fault.

But since no one knows how perfectly placed this incident was.  And how perfectly shattered my world is getting to be...

And the one who does is also just another perfectly placed write off...

The woman he knew.  The person he loved.  She is dead.  With one perfectly placed bullet she joined him in his grave.

I've shed aliases before.  And I'm sure another perfectly placed piss poor pathetic problem will cause me to shed others.  But this was not so much an alias as it was an identity.

Oh well.  It's what I deserve.  Penance of sorts.

My lies are so perfectly placed, my truths so perfectly pretended.  

But with one small hunk of metal...

A hand grabs mine as a person passes.  It offers a squeeze and then the warm body brushes past as it releases my hand.

It places a flower on Will's casket and then it continues walking.

He pretends not to know me.  Pretends to leave.  I know he had every intention of leaving.  But he stops in front of another grave.  Pretends to mourn.

It is risky for him to come here.  Risky and stupid.  Sloane probably had someone tail me.  Dixon was here earlier.  

And Dixon doesn't seem to be all that trusting of me as of late.

He came anyway.

My feet propel me to the grave beside the one he is interested in.  I know I'm walking right into another perfectly placed moment.

I know he isn't here to tell me that he's sorry, that he is there for me.

In fact I'd be surprised if he didn't tell me he changed his number.  That I couldn't call.

I don't know what I did.  But it must have been something.

"Things between us are getting too personal.  I know this isn't the best time.  I know things..." he starts off.

"Shut up Vaughn."  I don't care how fucking personal he thinks things are.  If he doesn't shut up I'm making them ten times more.  I can't take another perfectly placed moment.

I should have stayed at Will's side.

"Sydney, I'm sorry about Will.   But..."  

"But what Vaughn?  You don't get it do you?  My world is in ruins.  And here you are, the refreshing spring of gloom.  Just leave."  I dismiss him turning my head away.

"Syd." it's a plea with me to listen.  I throw myself into his arms instead.

His arms tighten around my waist.  I'd counted on them pushing me away.  I'd counted on another speech.

Perfectly placed.

I feel it before I even hear the sound of the gun.

Funny, I was having one of those not so perfectly placed moments.

We cling to each other even as we fall.

Strange.

Perfectly placed.  

One screaming piece of metal pierces us both.  And it's perfectly placed.

It hit him lower then it hit me.  Maybe for him it won't be so perfectly placed.

But for me it is.  

For me it's enough.


End file.
